


One, Two, Three, Four, Peter's Soul is at Death's Door

by The_Infinant_One



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Crying, Death, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Lots of Crying, M/M, Mutilation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Screaming, Some Fluff, Spideypool - Freeform, Torture, lots of pain, no comfort, self blame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Infinant_One/pseuds/The_Infinant_One
Summary: Title used to be 'Five Times Peter Died'Multiple chapters, each chapter being a different way Peter dies.Lots of blood, lots of torture, lots of crying, and deathChapter 1: They Didn'tThe people closest to Peter were spared the gory details of his death. Wade, unfortunately, was not.Chapter 2: Guilt Is A Heavy AnchorPeter can't move on after a nasty battle in New York killed half of the Avengers. Wade tries to help.Chapter 3: Throw Me A Bone, Will Ya?Wade is a dog. A physical dog who escaped imprisonment and torture just to run into Peter, who took him under his wing. They form a bond as strong as a boy and a dog could have, even in death.





	1. They Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> So I love writing angst and torture. And I was trying to decide which characters in which fandom to torture, and whoops, poor Spideypool was the pick. This is pretty much torture porn with minor fluff
> 
> Tom Holland and Ryan Reynolds are my Spidey and Deadpool, but it's whoever you want to imagine. Peter's of age, in his mid 20's in this chapter
> 
> Additional Warnings:  
> Mutilation

For someone who was as loud and as boisterous as he, Wade did have the ability to move eerily silent despite everyone’s doubts.

  
For example, he could open the door that slightly squeaked at its hinges to his apartment silently, walk across the old wooden floorboards gracefully without making a creak, knowing where not to step, and make it into bed beside his lover without waking said lover up.

Except when he got to the bedroom, Peter wasn’t there.

 _Probably out patrolling_ , Wade thought as he removed his weapons from his body, tossing them to the floor but not before checking to see if his gun’s safety lock was on. After about the third time of a gun going off and a bullet in the wall and his Spidey on the ceiling, he was always more self-conscious about small things like that.  
It worked out for him too. He just got back from a job so he was able to talk out loud and cuss all he wanted as he sat in the bathroom and reopened his skin to remove the bullets lodged in his skin.

Technically, he could wait for the bullets to remove themselves, but it only added more discomfort and irritation if he waited it out. It didn’t hurt him to cut himself open, but it was one unnecessary pain in the ass that he could easily take care of.

He was going to wait on Peter, but as soon as his head hit the pillow he was out cold. When he woke up though he felt the familiar warmth pressed up against his body. Looking down he was met with a mop of curly unruly hair, Peter’s face nestled into the side of Wade’s shoulder and his arms hugging him tightly. He smiled as he studied Peter’s facial features; his closed eyes and soft lips partly open causing him to look innocent and unknowing to the world around him.

Wade turned over so he was also laying on his side as well, Peter shifting in his sleep to accommodate the new position, and reached up to caress Peter's jaw and cheek sliding his thumb down Peter's lower lip. The soft even breath that was breathing softly on Wade's shoulder shuttered as Peter's eyes  
fluttered open.

"Hey," Peter mumbled a smile playing at his lips as he leaned into Wade's hand.

"Hey." Wade smiled back moving his hand down to grip the others chin and raise it slightly so he could kiss the younger man’s lips. Warmth and happiness radiating from each other’s bodies. Because in a couple months from now, they were going to be married.

\------------------------

Before Peter met Wade, he’d always train with the Avengers in the tower learning from the best, but after he met Wade, training for him went to a whole new level. Wade took Peter to abandoned warehouses, woods, or secluded areas “to learn to fight in an environment” according to the Merc. It was that and also, Wade was banned from the premise, unable to step foot within 50 feet of the building without getting rudely kicked out.

Peter received a text from Wade telling him to meet at an abandoned shipyard. He could hear before he saw Wade shooting random things and cutting other things up with his Katanas as he flipped down, landing on a crate.

"Practicing again?” Peter questioned, lifting his mask and arching an eyebrow.

“Of course!”

“Why? Trying to reclaim your pride after I beat your ass last time?" Peter replied with a cocky grin on his face as he jumped down and walked over. Wade stopped to look at him, smile, and replied, “Ha! Say what you want about last time Baby boy, but I totally won.”

“On a technicality! I still won,” Peter pouted adorably.

"Aw, how cute," Wade bopped Peter on the nose with his finger, causing the younger man to miserably fail at suppressing a smile, “You wouldn’t let me use my katanas! If it were in a real battle I could kill you easily.”

"Aw, that's not nice." Peter pouted again, "trying to kill your future husband."

Wade would never kill Peter. Peter knew this too, and that knowledge is what kept Wade comfortable at making such jokes, he knew Peter trusted him with his life, and that alone gave a warm feeling in Wade’s soul.

"Yep! Totally!"

Peter rolled his eyes, before walking away again, Wade’s eyes plastered on Peter’s ass.

“How about this,” Peter yelled, “You win, I’ll let you fuck me. I win, I fuck you,”

“So either way we fuck,” Wade smirked this time.

Peter winked in response.

"Ready?" Peter yelled, pulling his mask back down over his face.

"Ready," Wade mumbled to himself.

The two fought against each other, learning off each other, Wade never using the same tactic twice, keeping Peter on his toes, and Wade learning to dodge Peter’s punches and webs.  
Wade won, but he was pretty sure Peter let him win this time. So he fucked Peter. And then Peter fucked him. Then they had shower sex, and then two more rounds after that. They possibly maybe had morning sex too, but nobody was there to witness to know if that was true or not.

\---

They both hated arguing. It didn’t happen often, but when they did argue it was like hells gates opened. They didn’t remember what the argument was about, but it left Wade emotionally hurt. Self-doubt and self-hatred ran through him as he sliced down the people he was paid to kill. He wondered where he went wrong if Peter suddenly decided that he didn’t want to marry someone who looked like a shriveled raisin, or he wanted to be with someone closer to his age. Someone who shared his sense of morality. Wade couldn’t change the first two, but if it was the third he could definitely try to cut back on the killing. Peter wasn't thrilled about that part of him, but he accepted it. Or so it seemed. 

While he was off killing people to release his tension, he left Peter back home, not knowing how the younger man would lay in bed, silently crying, blaming himself even if he didn’t start the argument, rationalizing the events in his head, but deciding Wade should start the conversation that led to apologies, if he would... Peter knew Wade could get like that and he knew Wade would always apologize later after he cooled down. But every time it happens Peter feels like Wade personally took his katanas and stabbed him through his heart.  
But when the Avengers swallowed their pride and asked Deadpool along to assist them in a specifically deadly mission in South Asia, the two were both too stubborn to apologize deciding they’d apologize later when they were less mad. This decision led to a very awkward jet ride with the Avengers as they flew somewhere to South Asia.

\----------------------

"Wade? Tony?" Peter’s voice came out shaky as he came to his senses. The sun was setting, but where he lay, with trees all around him and debris on fire, it was already dark. He stood shakily, trying to think of how the jet was shot out of the air. It was a trap, it had to be. Whoever was down here knew the Avengers were coming which meant he had to find the other Avengers or hide. He strained to listen for any sign of life, only hearing faint footsteps or a rustling somewhere near him, keeping him on edge. His Spidey-senses were hitting the ceiling, telling him that danger was everywhere, but he couldn't see it. He climbed a tree so he wouldn't be a sitting duck, worrying about Wade and the rest of his team, wondering if they were okay and where they were.

He thought that jumping through the trees would be a smart decision till he climbed up one and came face to face with a masked soldier with a Hydra symbol on his helmet, aiming a gun right at his face.

Peter managed to grab the gun and push it sideways as it went off, flinging himself down and running through the forest as he heard the atmosphere light up with noise, the first shot triggering a loud roar from the soldiers hiding in trees and shots echoing throughout the terrain. In the far distance, he could hear the sound of Tony’s suit blasters going off and the distinct noise of Wade’s own guns firing.

He swung through the trees in the direction he thought Wade was, the sound of Wade’s guns becoming louder and louder, but mid swing he felt his web being cut as he fell roughly to the ground.

A group of soldiers cornered him at every angle while the one hidden in the tree where he shot his web jumped down, landing in the spot Peter lay if he didn’t move out of the way. He put up a hell of a good fight, knocking out most of them, but was overpowered when one jumped his back and pulled him down as the other flung himself at Peter. He felt the breath get knocked out of him as a deep punch settled in his stomach as he failed to get up and the men off of him.

When he moved to get up he realized something was wrong. The man, still in front of him, pushed his arm forward as Peter moved to sit up and that’s when he felt it. Sharp stinging radiated from his stomach as the blade of a knife pushed deeper into his abdomen.

His center of gravity tilted as he stumbled back, the trees in front of him starting to move as his vision blurred from pain and the sweat beads that trailed down his forehead. 

He still tried to fight as one of the soldiers walk up and push him down roughly on his back. The impact of the sharp sticks and rocks on his back made him whimper in pain, their sharp edges tearing at his suit, but it was nothing compared to the feel of the knife slowly being withdrawn from his body.

It pierced him again, the serrated steel even more unbearable this time around. 

He couldn’t help the sob that left his lips. 

The man straddled him, right below the wound as his hands stroked and scratched at Peter’s neck, trying to find where the edge of his mask was. Peter flailed as he threw his arms up trying to push the man off, but with a twist of the knife and a sickening squelch, Peter arched back and opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. 

The pain pulsed through his body in burning waves, shooting down to his toes and up through his chest where all the pain stuck in his throat, choking him. Or maybe it was the man’s hands, he couldn’t register his surroundings anymore. 

His hands moved from the man’s wrists to his shoulders, weakly trying to push him off, a despaired sob escaping him.

  
Then his mask was removed.

“Aww, it’s just a  _little boy,_ ” The man cooed mockingly in a thick accent, Peter’s fearful, tear-filled eyes making contact with cold, sadistic ones.

His mind was going haywire, all he wanted right now was Wade or Tony, so he screamed for them. Fear and panic bubbled from his chest as he was held down, tears spilling down his face at the pain as he continued crying out for someone to help him as the man continuously stabbed him in his stomach.

He screamed for help till he was just screaming, the pain conquering his mind and body as he lay there writhing in discomfort, his healing factor working overdrive to heal his injuries, only causing more pain as Peter felt himself being stitched together only to be sliced open again.

And again,

and again.

Blood was everywhere. He could feel it seeping down his sides, soaking his suit, and taste it as he coughed and sputtered to keep from drowning in the little pool of blood that rested in the back of his throat.

A new pain blossomed in his head as the second man grabbed a fistful of damp hair and forced Peter to look at the bloody mess that was his stomach.  
He couldn’t help but let out a broken moan that ended in a pathetic whimper as he was forced to look at the knife plunge into his stomach again. His suit was torn apart and his flesh was mutilated as he could see blood gushing and his uncovered muscles spasming against intestines that peaked through the hole in his abdomen. A new wave of fear and tears came as he unashamedly started crying harder.

Then the knife twisted in his stomach causing his scream to cut off with a gasp as he gagged on blood that shot up his throat unexpectedly, sputtering as he was roughly shoved back down, helpless and exhausted.

He couldn’t scream anymore. He couldn’t make any noise really except for pitiful whimpers and groans as he cried, sounding like a wounded animal. 

He was scared.

He hurt so much.

And wanted it to be over.

A part of him wanted to die, but he tried to hold on despite knowing deep down that he was going to die. There was no way he’d walk this one off even with his healing powers, but he fought back against the darkness that started seeping into the corners of his vision.

He didn’t want to die alone.

Even the soldier left him. He didn’t know when he left, but he left Peter alone, vulnerable to the wild, and alive.

Regrets surged through him as he thought about all the things he didn’t say to the people he loved, how he was going to let so many people down.

Wade. The argument with Wade seemed smaller than ever. He wouldn’t be able to see Wade again. He’d die without telling Wade he was sorry and Wade shouldn’t blame himself. He knew Wade would, and what would Wade do? He’d go crazy. Well, crazier than he already was.

Tony. He would never be able to pay him back for all the good he’s done for him. He would live with guilt, thinking he was the reason that Peter died. Peter remembered that talk like it was yesterday. He’d never have a chance to tell Tony how much of a father figure he was. How he helped him and Aunt May through rough times, and how Peter needed Tony to be there for his aunt when he was gone.

  
Aunt May. Another strong woman in his life that he would never be able to repay her kindness. It was just her and Peter, and he felt guilty that he’d be leaving her. He promised he’d be back he promised he’d be careful and safe. Apparently, he wasn’t careful enough.

And Ned. His best friend and brother, the guy who was with him since the beginning. Before he was Spiderman. The boy who was with him before Uncle Ben died, who was with him through most of his life. His ups, his downs… they were going to grow old together, they made a pact. And he let him down.

And what if they couldn’t find him? If the soldier didn’t take his mutilated corpse somewhere, he’d rot here. He’d just be a skeleton, left to the wild beasts to eat. Lost to the world.

He blamed himself that he was putting everyone he loved through pain, he hated that he was going to die, especially this way. He could have fought harder, could have been more aware, it was his fault he was dying, and it would be his fault with the pain that followed.

Somehow, those thoughts alone hurt more than the knife still inside him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but somewhere between spacing out the men left him.

He didn’t want to die alone.

With his strength dwindling down, he tried to yell once more, he really did, but his lungs hurt real badly and any movement now caused the knife to shift against his damaged body, the nerves ghosting across the knife shooting pain across his body.

It hurt him to breathe, his breaths ragged and coming out in wheezing inhales. Accepting his fate, he wished he could just die, but his body wouldn’t let him. Even in his weak and mutilated state, his healing power was still trying to work, trying to desperately fix him.

He heard footsteps but didn’t care who it was. Maybe it was a soldier and maybe that soldier would be merciful enough to shoot him in the head, end his suffering.  
His tears dried on his face as he stared numbly at the tree line in front of him, his strength to keep his head looking up at the sky long gone, waiting for the inevitable. The world around him carried on, somewhere he could hear men shouting and guns going off, but it was masked by a buzzing in his ears and a fogginess in his head, his mind a million miles away. He was in his apartment, Wade was there, and everything was calm. It felt nice.

He didn’t know how much time passed when he felt two strong arms enveloping him, bringing him out of his fantasy. He groaned in pain as he felt his upper body being lifted up and leaning against another warm chest, arms holding him protectively. His head nestled on a shoulder while the strong, muscular arm kept his head propped up.

_Red_

“Wade?” He croaked, the name coming out more of a strangled sound than a word, blood trickling down his chin at the sudden movement in his throat.

“Shh, I’m here, I’m here,” Wade said, barely decipherable, yanking off his own mask  
and dropping it beside him.

“Help me,” Peter croaked pitifully, almost begging. A new rush of guilt and shame washed over him like a wave, falling in the form of tears on his blood and dirt-stained cheeks. Out of all the words he could have said, he had to beg for something Wade couldn’t give him. Help that he knew Wade couldn’t provide. And Wade would blame himself for it.  
“I’m— I’m sorry,” Peter said brokenly, apologizing repeatedly to the best of his ability. He was sorry for everything. Every argument, every miscommunication, every time he didn’t listen to Wade because of his own stubbornness.

He was sorry that he was going to leave Wade alone.

“No no no, no apologizing! I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, I should have protected you. I should have-” Wade rambled on, apologizing for everything he should and shouldn’t have done, looking at the wound helplessly. He knew he couldn’t save Peter, not when his abdomen was so broken in.

No, Wade could only hold Peter, cradle him and rock him oh so slightly back and forth in a comforting motion, feeling Peter gasp and shudder as his breathing became harder.

Feeling how Peter’s cold, thin fingers wrapped around the strap that held his Katanas like it was his lifeline.

Feeling Peter’s blood saturate his own suit.

“I love you,” Peter mumbled, his body stilling and his breathing becoming fainter.

Wade went silent, kissing Peter’s forehead, tasting the sweat on blood on his scarred lips, feeling how cold and clammy Peter’s skin was.

“I love you too,” He whispered, taking his thumb and wiping away the tears that fell slowly down Peter’s face as the boy shifted into Wade’s body a little more, his face hiding in Wade’s chest.

Wade didn’t know how long he sat there shaking and crying, but he did know the exact moment when Peter’s hands fell lifelessly away from the strap.

When Peter’s head rolled into Wade’s chest.

When Peter stopped breathing.

\---

Wade didn't know what hurt more. Carrying Peter's dead body back or having to bury him in an unmarked grave.

It took a couple days after he had to wistfully bury Peter to find Captain America and Iron Man, but they were already miles from the unmarked grave.

He may or may not have committed suicide a couple times before then.

Time seemed to freeze as the air became heavy as Tony and Steve grasped the fact that Peter, their Peter was gone forever. The forest was eerily silent. The birds weren’t singing, and the insects weren’t chirping like they were paying their own silent respects for the fallen hero.

  
It took a month for the trio to get home and reunite with the Avengers.

To say they were shocked was an understatement

Tony locked himself away, drinking and succumbing to grief and self-blame, looking at his latest invention that was meant for Peter. The Iron Spider suit he called it, knowing that this suit will never be worn or used again and that his kid was dead. His kid that he knew since the boy was 15. The child that he helped raise. The child that he brought into the Avengers and led to his death. He wondered if he just built the suit a little faster if it would have protected Peter.

The team knew with heavy hearts that they lost a friend and would never hear his voice again and that  
one day he'll just be a face that will appear once in a while in a thought passing by. They wouldn't remember what his voice sounded like. His laugh that brightened up a room would just be a faint memory no matter how hard they tried to remember.

  
Nobody wanted to tell Aunt May, but Wade stepped up to the plate. He was the fiance after all. Once she stopped screaming and yelling, she collapsed into Wade's arms as he comforted her as she sobbed into his chest.

She cried until she could cry no more but still had the feeling drowning her. All she could think about was her nephew— her son, alone and scared as he slowly bled to death. Her Peter. She couldn't face the fact that the boy he brought in and raised as his own. The one that she comforted every time he had a bad dream, the one she brought in when he was still a child. He didn’t deserve to die. Out of all of them, he was supposed to live.

Then there was Ned and MJ. They were torn apart. They blamed themselves for so much, but they knew they couldn’t have done or said anything to stop Peter from helping people. Because that who he was, someone who had the need to help. They knew Peter was Spider-man and his life was always at risk, but they didn’t think he’d die. Not so soon anyway. They were supposed to grow old together, travel the world and create memories. That caused them more grief, they hated that they didn’t hold on to memories as well as they should have, the dread that in a few months, the memories would all be unreliable. 

 

In the end, they all had somebody. Tony had Pepper and all the Avengers. Steve had Bucky and Sam, Clint had Natasha, the Avengers all had each other. Aunt May had Tony and Steve, Ned had MJ…

But Wade had nobody.

Nobody except his self-deprecating thoughts and guns.

The Avengers didn’t like Wade on a good day but trying to comfort him while still angry at themselves almost turned upstate New York into a battleground, so they left him alone. Aunt May attempted to reach out, but the guilt and shame Wade felt looking at her and knowing that he let Peter die fueled him to push her away with nothing more than an “I’m sorry.”

Wade lay on the cold couch of the apartment, sprawled out and staring blankly at the cracked ceiling.

The living room was in shambles that reflected his emotions perfectly. Tables were broken, bullet holes littered the walls, the TV screen was smashed and the dishes from the kitchen were strewn about the floor in broken shards. The calendar that marked their wedding day lay somewhere, shredded to pieces.

  
They didn’t have to live with the knowledge Wade knew though.

They didn’t see Peter. They didn’t see him convulsing, intestines on the ground. They weren’t running, feeling panic swelling in their chest, when they heard him scream and cry for them. They didn’t hold his dying body in their arms. They didn’t feel him die. They didn’t have to carry Peter’s cold body until they had to accept the fact that he had to be buried. They didn’t have to hand dig the grave, grueling for hours under the hot sun. They didn’t have to watch as they covered his face with dirt, knowing that Peter would rot away under the ground, lost to the world. They didn’t have to walk the earth for the rest of eternity and further because they were granted the gift of death to put them out of all their suffering in the end.

  
_They didn’t have to do a lot of things_ , Wade thought as he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger once more.

 


	2. Guilt Is A Heavy Anchor

Wade sat on his couch, watching Peter stare out the window in their dingy apartment.

The last battle in New York didn’t go as planned at all, resulting in dire consequences. For one, Peter went quiet.

As in, he wouldn’t talk at all. He’d say a few things, but only revolving around telling Wade to shut up.

As much as Wade talked and begged Peter to talk to him, to help ease his mind, Peter stayed quiet. He wanted to lift Peter’s spirit. He hated seeing how empty the young man was. How he’d just sit and stare.

Wade understood what was going on. The boy was wracked with guilt, and Wade knew enough that whenever something bad happened, Peter always took it upon himself to bear the weight of the guilt himself, blaming only himself. It wasn’t fair.

The battle was against some outer dimensional force with technology far stronger than Earth’s, and they failed. The Avengers failed, and they paid the price heavily.

  
Any person within a ten-mile radius of Upstate New York died as well as half of the Avengers. Hell, even Wade himself died, but of course, he couldn’t stay dead.

But Iron Man was dead. Tony Stark: Peter’s mentor, friend, trusted companion and father figure was dead, and Peter had the unfortunate front seat view at his death.

  
And of course, Peter blamed himself, even though he could have done nothing about it.

Peter could have practically been a zombie. Walking around, staring aimlessly at things. Doing nothing but staring.

Wade was scared of this Peter. The one who was just there and never talked. But he was patient, and he’d wait for Peter to talk because eventually, Peter would have too.

  
For now though, he easily adjusted to finding Peter sitting at the kitchen table, the couch, and sometimes he’d even wake up to see Peter sitting at the end of the bed slumped over and silently crying.

He couldn’t do much but tell Peter that it wasn’t his fault that the Avengers died, that it wasn’t his fault that Tony was dead... that he needed to move on because it wasn’t helping either of them.

But Peter only said he couldn’t. He couldn’t “move on” when so much hurt happened because of him.

Well, Peter’s pain hurt Wade more than his scarred skin ever could, but Wade didn't share that little detail. 

Wade wanted to touch him, to hug him and tell him it was okay, but he couldn’t, and it killed him to have to watch Peter cry without being consoled. He would have killed himself, but Peter begged him not too, that he couldn’t bear to have another death on his hands despite Wade unable to actually die. That was the last time he heard Peter speak in full sentences. Well, one of the last times. The truly last time was when Wade did off himself when Peter was gone, but only to wake up with Peter standing over him, sobbing and yelling at him.

It didn’t help the guilt in either of them.

\----

Months passed and Wade hardly ever saw Peter now. Sometimes he’d visit, but Wade was used to the silence. Of course, he’d talk Peter’s ear off till Peter told him to shut up.

  
But tonight was different. When he walked into his apartment, he saw Peter sitting in the chair as usual, but this time he held a gun in his lap. One of Wade’s guns that created a nasty hole in any poor target.

“Petey… what are you doing? Put that down.” Wade said cautiously, he didn’t know what Peter was going to use it for, but it couldn’t have been good.

He walked slowly towards Peter and knelt down as close as he could, taking the gun from Peter’s hands slowly, tossing it to the side idly.

“I.. I want to talk.”

Wade was almost excited and relieved to hear Peter’s voice, if only Peter didn’t sound so dead and scratchy. His voice didn’t have its usual chipper tone. It killed him inside, but he had to be here for Peter, however, he could. He honestly at this point didn’t know.

“Talk to me baby boy.”

“I…” Peter choked back a sob, “I don’t know what to do. I try to move on. I really do, but I can’t. They’re all dead because of me, and I couldn’t have done anything.”

“You did everything you could,” Wade said as calmly as he could. Usually, he would hug Peter, but he didn’t think he could.

“I could have done more.”

“No… no, you did your best. You were fucking amazing out there.”

“It hurts Wade,” Peter started sobbing, unable to hold it back any longer. “It hurts all over, all the time.”

“It’s ghosts pain. Believe me, I’ve had many of those.” Wade said, lamely trying to lighten the mood. The heart-shattering look Peter gave him told him to shut up, so Wade did.

“I’m a murderer.”

“You’re not a murderer. I’m a murderer Spidey, you’re a fucking hero, someone people aspire to be like. There’s no bone in your body that would let you kill somebody.”

“But Mr. Stark—”

“Tony knew he’d die one way or another in battle, it was just a matter of time and you had to watch him die, but it wasn’t your fault. Listen,” Wade brought out his hand to touch Peter’s, but he pulled it back, yearning to just touch his Spidey again.

“I could have saved him,” Peter whispered, his voice hoarse.

“No. No, you couldn’t have. You were trapped yourself, you couldn’t have gotten to him in time. You need to let go of the guilt.”

“I could have fought harder.”

Wade sighed, knowing he would be running in circles trying to convince Peter that he wasn’t to blame, but he had the stamina and a surprising amount of patience when it came to Peter, so he sat, and he tried to convince him.

“I’m scared,” Peter admitted.

“You’ll be okay,” Wade cooed gently. He believed what he said too. Peter would be okay. He was strong, and he could move on.

  
Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, holding it for a few seconds, before slowly exhaling. Still, he didn’t open his eyes. The tears stopped flowing a while ago as Peter came to terms with what happened as his muscles relaxed slowly. It was an odd experience for Wade.

  
He never saw anything like it as a warm aura started glowing around Peter.

Peter opened his eyes and looked at Wade sadly, so many emotions mixed in those warm brown eyes Wade knew he’d never see again.

“I love you, Wade.” Peter smiled, a small, but thankful smile as tears shinned bright in his eyes again, threatening to spill.

“Love you too Petey.” Wade stayed still as he watched Peter disappear.

 “Thank you," Peter whispered as his form became more translucent and eventually vanished. 

 

Wade cried then. He cried because he truly lost Peter.

It was hard enough to watch the boy die in his arms when the enemy brutally stabbed him in the heart right after they stabbed Tony, but now he lost Peter twice. A big part of him was relieved that Peter finally moved on, that he could finally stop hurting, but he was so used to his presence even in death that the place felt empty.

It felt wrong. Happy Peter or dead Peter, the boy always radiated some kind of energy, but now it was gone leaving the air heavy and still.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! If you did, maybe comment or kudos? Those are lovely. Thanks!


	3. Throw Me A Bone, Will Ya?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool is a dog, thrown out onto the streets by his old owners and taken to be experimented on as a weapon for the military.
> 
> He escapes and runs across Peter, who takes him in and grows up with him, creating a bond as strong as a boy could get with his dog. 
> 
> (Deadpool wasn’t transformed into a dog or anything. He is legit a dog, but an intuitive one due to the chemicals)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, here I am casually nine months after chapter two.  
> This sounds like an odd chapter, but I've been feeling Dog!Wade and wanted to see how I could depict him

 

If there's anything Wade was good at, it was waiting.

Just like he waited two years to escape his hellhole.

It’s been seven days since Deadpool broke out.

In seven days, he’d made it across multiple towns and through many wooded areas, left to fend for himself. It was okay, any wild animal he came across he killed. That was what he was being trained to do anyway. Fight and kill anything that moved. 

But then he escaped, and that was that. 

Walking down the streets, everyone he passed would shy away from him. If there were children, their parents would take their hand or pick them up and hurry away. He wasn’t going to hurt them. He didn’t want to hurt them! He didn’t know why they would run until one day he saw a monster and started growling at it before he realized he was looking in a reflection.

He did look terrifying. His ears were barely there. His hair was patchy with more skin than fur showing, and the long scars that crossed over one eye made his eye narrow and look menacing. He was famished, the skin taught and emphasizing his ribs; he was dehydrated, his mouth open and his tongue panting and drooling, along with his long fangs made him look rabid and ready to kill. He’d run away from himself too probably.

\------

Three weeks passed since he escaped the underground research facility. That’s like, five months in human terms. 

Awake or asleep, he relived the torture. The men who dissected him and injected liquids that made his blood burn and his mind become aggressive. The experiments that made him become aware of humans, how they transferred a section of a human brain to his for him to understand language and commands. How they used that to punish him when he rebelled.

He didn’t know how far he’d gone, but he knew he wasn’t in the state he escaped from. He passed a state line that said New York.

It was raining again. The cold rain felt nice on his paws, cracked and covered in dry blood and mud. His fur, well, what was left of it, helped keep him warm, the water trailing off his fur, matting his long black coat to his scarred skin.

He was walking past an alley in a more desolate area of New York looking for scraps of food when a sound caught his attention. He’s heard lots of noises, screaming, crying, talking or yelling, but this one was different.

It was a small gasp followed by a quieter whimper.

His ear perked up. Yes, ear. The other one was chewed off by another dog a couple months ago. Shame, really, but he could still hear out of both ears, and the other one perked up and functioned just fine. Minor loss. At least he wasn’t the other dog who lost his whole throat.

Anyways, he trotted off in the area the noise was coming from, finding himself standing in the entry of an alleyway. In the small alley, filled with trash and random crap, he saw a small boy who looked ten, sitting on the dirty ground holding his shirt up and examining something on his body. The boy smelled good, an autumn smell of cinnamon and something else sweet and fresh. 

Carefully, in order to not frighten the boy, he limped up to the boy, his walk uneven.

The boy looked up at him when he sensed Deadpool’s presence, eyes going wide, and his whole body tense and frozen.

From where Deadpool stood, he could practically smell the fear radiating off the kid. He could see it, how the boy froze, his eyes staring right at his, wide and terrified; he could hear it, the quick breaths and a racing heart. He could also smell pain, the sweat beading on the boy’s forehead.

Deadpool almost walked away, but he stayed. He smelled food somewhere on the boy’s body, and he needed food. Besides, this mere child didn’t look or feel like a threat.

He took one step closer, watching the boy move away slightly too.

 _Smile_. That’s what the other humans did when greeting people. He tried moving his lips, but the kid didn’t relax. If anything, he tensed up even more and started shaking. His teeth, probably. He tried giving off a ‘don’t worry’ sound, but it came out as a low growl.

_Definitely not helping._

He gave up on introductions, seeing that nothing was helping. So he just walked up and stood mere inches away from the boy, watching the boy shake and shrink away, holding his backpack in front of his chest in a weak defense.

 _Silly human,_ he thought. He could definitely rip that bag away and kill the boy in one swift motion if he wanted too. But he didn’t, he just wanted the food.

He didn’t have time for this. Well, he did have time, but he didn’t have the patience. He wasn’t going to hurt the boy, he was sure he made that clear.

He reached his nose out, touching the bag. God, the smell of food smelled so good, if only it weren’t mixed with the kid’s smell of anxiety, which was making him feel antsy himself.

He sat, tilting his head now, but it seemed like the boy mentally checked out. Still too scared to react. So, he repeated his motion of touching the bag and staring. He licked his chops, showing that he was hungry, panting, not knowing why the kid moved back even further.

“Y-you want food?” The boy asked quietly.

_Finally_

Deadpool nodded and agreed, the noise coming out of his closed mouth a pathetic whimper.

Without looking down, the boy slowly unzipped his bag and took out a bagged sandwich, only half eaten.

Time seemed to slow down when the boy took the sandwich out, oh so slowly, and finally throwing it to the ground.

Deadpool lunged for it, scarfing it up in almost three bites. It tasted heavenly, but it wasn’t enough.

When he looked up, about to ask for more, he saw the boy standing up, limping away in almost a run. The kid was short.

Deadpool followed him, trotting to catch up, but the boy stopped, his voice extremely high when he told Deadpool to stay back. He didn’t ‘stay back,’ but he did slow his walk, making sure not to be too fast in case he scared the boy more than he already had. He would stop, letting the boy get a couple more feet before following him again. If he followed the boy, then he’d get more food, maybe? But last time he did that, the girl called someone, and he had to run away from getting captured. Hell would have to freeze over before he’d get caught back into that prison again…

“I don’t have any food left,” the boy held his hands up beside him.

Deadpool glared at the boy, growling low in his throat in aggravation.

“Please don’t eat me,” The kid murmured, walking backward.

It was pointless. This wimp served his purpose in Deadpool’s life. He stopped after a bit, letting the boy go.

 --------------

The next day, Deadpool sat in that alleyway, waiting to see if that boy would return.

He did, walking by the alleyway.

Deadpool recognized the boy’s scent. Not the one of fear or pain, but of the autumn smell.

He got up from where he sat next to dumpsters and let out a short bark at the opening of the alley. The boy jumped at the noise, pulling out headphones.

“Oh, you again,” the boy muttered, stopping and looking at him.

“I don’t have food, sorry.” The boy said, looking away as if he was finding an escape exit.

Deadpool whined from where he sat next to the dumpsters. He saw someone throw a bag away earlier in one of the dumpsters, food radiating from it. If the boy didn’t have food, the least he could do is have common courtesy and help get the food for him.

Deadpool walked, looking back every few steps, till he made it to the dumpster, pawing at the green metal.

In his mind, he was telling the boy to come over, to try to get the food, but what the boy could only hear were pitiful whimpers.

The boy walked over carefully and alert, so Deadpool backed off, giving the boy space.

“What do you want?”

_Food, you dumb fuck!_

“Food?” 

 _Yes!_ Deadpool panted and wagged his tail approvingly.

“You want me to dumpster dive…” the kid did not sound happy.

Deadpool didn’t know what that was, but if it was getting him food, then yes.

“Fine. Stay over there,” the boy pointed to a spot a reasonable distance away. Deadpool did move away, but not to the spot where the boy pointed too. Instead, he sat in the center of the alley, blocking the boy’s only exit.

“You’re lucky I like dogs…” the boy looked displeased, but opened up the trash bin anyways, making a face at the bad smells.

After a while, he found food, spoiled now, but still smelling good.

He threw it on the ground and Deadpool ate that up.

The boy sat and watched, wiping the grime off his hands onto his pants.

“I gotta go now,” The boy said, walking away.

Deadpool whimpered again, and again, tried following, only to be told off.

“I’ll come back tomorrow though, I promise,” the boy nodded his head once, looking at Deadpool with wide eyes as if eye contact alone could somehow teleport his thoughts into Deadpool’s. Deadpool understood him, he just wished the kid could understand him.

It rained that night. It was the closest thing he got to a bath, but the water dried, and it would only irritate his scarred skin more. He lay down in a nearby park for some form of shelter, laying down in a puddle of his own filth as the rain washed away some of the dirt and grime his patches of fur collected.

But he didn’t wander, because the boy said he’d come back, and he was going to wait to see if the boy held his promise.

\------------- 

The next day the boy came by, but this time Deadpool didn’t have to say anything. He saw the boy look for him, and when Deadpool walked out from under his shelter of boxes, the boy walked into the alleyway. Not too far in case he had to run, but enough to show progress.

_Good human_

Deadpool panted, wagging his tail, excited that the boy came by and wasn’t as scared of him.

“Oh good, you’re here,” the boy said, pulling his backpack off his shoulder and slinging it around to the front. “I brought you something.”

There was a good smell emitting from the bag, and Deadpool tramped forwards, looking at two whole sandwiches filled with lunch meat. But the boy didn’t throw him the food, and Deadpool didn’t move for it. They just stood, staring at each other. 

“Okay. Okay, um… sit… er…” The kid tilted his body slightly before standing straight, an embarrassed look crossing his face. “boy?”

The boy looked as awkward as his command sounded.

Deadpool looked at him unamused. If the boy had to name the look, it would resemble something like Jim looking into the camera in the Office.

“If you sit, I’ll give you food. If you understand, that is, which is stupid, because you’re a dog and you can’t understand what I’m saying.” 

Deadpool definitely knew what the boy was saying. He knew the kid was trying to do some dog trick on him, trying to get him to sit. Well, not with that shitty awkward tone. If he were going to do something the kid wanted, he’d make the kid work for it.

“C’ mon, you want the food, don’t ya?”

Deadpool did, but he wasn’t going to back down. After a few more fumbling around, Deadpool decided to give the kid a break and sit, finally getting one sandwich thrown to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the boy walk further into the alleyway, leaning against the bricks. He didn’t like feeling the boy’s eyes on him.

“My name’s Peter by the way which you don’t care about. I’m thirteen. Well, I’m twelve. But I’ll be thirteen in like, two weeks, so it counts. Again, which you don’t care about since you’re a dog…” Peter mumbled, trailing off his sentence with “god I’m so fucking lame…”

Deadpool could hear the last bit, but probably only because he was a dog.

Peter held out the other sandwich, not dropping it. Deadpool wasn’t going to go through that whole “sit dog” experience again, but it seemed Peter didn’t want to do that either. He just held the sandwich out, observing Deadpool as much as Deadpool observed Peter.

He understood then that Peter wanted Deadpool to get close to him. Deadpool watched, trying to pick up on any alternative ideas Peter might be having, but when he didn’t sense anything negative, he walked up, close to the boy till he grabbed the sandwich out of his hand, slowly of course, so he didn’t startle the boy. They were finally making progress; Peter was actually trying to get near him! But then he reached out his hand, trying to pet him. Deadpool growled. Not in an aggressive way, but more as a warning. The kid didn’t seem to have any bad intentions, but Deadpool wasn’t going to risk it. He hated touch.

This became a daily thing. Peter would come by with food, and Deadpool would eat it, and Peter would talk to him about nonsense. And Deadpool liked it.

 He liked the boy. He loved his soft tone and how his voice got loud when he got excited when recounting his stories and dreams. The excitement that radiated off his body when talking about science stuff or something that had to do with friends or his Aunt and Uncle radiated onto Deadpool, making Deadpool happy till his tail wagged. 

When Peter was sad, Deadpool was sad, and a little angry at the things that made Peter sad. One day, when Peter sat slumped over against the brick wall, head hung low with his arms hanging over his knees, Deadpool walked up to him and got in between his legs, gently head butting him on his forehead.

Peter looked up startled, startling Deadpool in response. But the smile that Peter made made the action worth it, even if Deadpool felt anxious.

He still wouldn’t let Peter pet him, but whenever Peter was sad or distressed, or Deadpool wanted to say thank you, Deadpool would nudge up to Peter whenever Peter was sitting, they would always rest their foreheads together. In that close proximity, Deadpool could hear Peter’s heart as if it were his own or he could lick away tears.

\----------

He trusted this boy. He trusted him so much that he let Peter touch his head, but he was tense. He was waiting for the hand to grab his fur, to twist his skin and to try and rip him apart, but none of that happened. The hand was soft and gentle. Peter scratched underneath his jaw, aware and careful of the scars that were still fresh.

Deadpool closed his eyes, forgetting what a gentle touch felt like. Through days, he felt more comfortable with Peter’s physical touch. He didn’t tense up and even rolled over and let Peter rub his stomach there, it felt nice getting itchy spots taken care of.

Peter’s happy energy made Deadpool happy, and Deadpool found that he would do anything for this boy.

So, they sat every day, Deadpool enjoying Peter’s company, forgetting what it was like to have a companion.

It was different one day. Peter didn’t show up at his usual time, and Deadpool worried. He strained his senses to try to get a scent or some kind of indication the human was near, but nothing came up.

Until he smelled him, his fear.

Deadpool perked up, the overwhelming need to defend coursing through him. He ran to the source of the smell, getting a couple blocks away and into another alley where he saw three boys gathered around a smaller form, punching and kicking the helpless body on the ground.

Deadpool growled, a low guttural sound, this time angry. Nobody would hurt his human.

He bared his teeth for extra emphasis. People were scared of his teeth, apparently.

Everyone looked in his direction. The three boys looked shocked. Deadpool could smell fear off of a couple of them. The third one he sensed became angry. Angry humans were dangerous, and that made him want to attack the person more.

Peter was on the ground, trying to get up. Deadpool could smell blood on him. Unlike the last time, he could see the blood and the bruises.

The leader of the group said something, the other guys laughing and relaxing a bit. He couldn’t understand them through the anger muddying his brain. They walked forward, picking up short planks of wood and tapping them against their palm in a dominant, warning way.

His old owners use to do that before they beat him. They were definitely bad people.

Deadpool hunkered back, hair standing on end, ready to tear some throats out. He wasn’t in an alleyway anymore. He was in a ring with bright lights on him, three dogs in front of him about ready to tear him apart. It was life or death now.

Peter was saying something in the background, but he couldn’t hear him. All he could hear was the loud ringing of people outside of the ring.

He saw the wood plank swing down, and he lunged.

His teeth sunk into flesh, and he heard screaming and yelling of the three boys as he growled, shaking his head back and forth feverously. People were hitting him, trying to get him off.

Someone grabbed the back of his hide near his shoulder blades, triggering yet another memory of his past owners. Almost on instinct, he let go of whatever bit of skin he was holding onto and whipped backward, now biting whoever’s hand was on his back. He had to get it off.

He only stopped a second before he let his full strength go down in the bite when he heard a high pitch scream, one different than the three boys.

The world stopped then when he saw Peter looking at him in fear and terror, tears already forming in his eyes, his body radiating pain.

Deadpool then realized that he bit Peter. He bit his human. Deadpool let go, looking to see the three boys, holding the limping form of the one he bit in the middle rushing to get out of the alleyway.

Turning back, Peter was huddled against a brick wall, similar to how he looked when they first met. But he was holding his wrist, bleeding through his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the tears fall.

Deadpool felt terrible. He whimpered and whined, even going as far to lay down in a submissive position in apology, crawling slowly towards Peter, aware that Peter could still, in fact, hurt him in return.

He nudged Peter’s shoe with his nose, trying to apologize in any way that he could.

“Bad dog,” Peter scolded, pulling his foot away. Deadpool flinched, the words ringing in his ears from all the times his previous owners said that but there was no mean intention in Peter’s body, so Deadpool watched and kept his distance.

“I gotta go,” Peter mumbled, standing up and clutching his arm to his chest. 

Deadpool whimpered more but didn’t dare do anything, in case he got Peter even angrier. Instead, he walked away so he didn't have to bear to watch the boy's back as he left. He was almost out of hte alley when he stiffened, hearing male voices before Peter did. There stood a couple men, one a police officer, and the other an animal shelter person with a long stick.

Deadpool started growling, baring his teeth as the two men tried walking further.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked behind him, his voice wobbly. 

“It’s okay son, we’re just going to get the dog away from you.” The police officer said assuring.

“He’s not going to hurt me!” Wade looked back to see Peter use his arm to wipe away the tears that fell, still clutching his wound.

“We got a call from a couple people, said that a rabid dog just attacked three boys.”

“He’s not rabid. He was saving me.” Peter limped up, standing behind Deadpool as straight as his abused body could. Deadpool didn’t waver from his defensive stance, but he did stop barring his teeth, looking at Peter. Nobody stood up for him.

“Do you know this dog?”

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s uh... he’s….” Peter looked at Deadpool, and Deadpool looked back, just as curious as the two men as to what Peter’s answer would be.

“He’s my dog.”

Deadpool froze. Out of all things Peter could have said he claimed to be his owner.

“Are you sure?” The animal control person asked. Deadpool barred his fangs at him.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure? He’s my dog. He was uh… protecting me.” 

Deadpool listened to the two men get after Peter for leash laws and violent actions, claiming they needed to take him in. But Peter, a side that Deadpool didn’t see before, stayed stubborn and wouldn’t back down.

After a long lecture, and a warning that Peter should get the wound taken care of and get the dog checked for rabies, Peter stood awkwardly before pulling on Deadpool’s nape of his neck, pulling him along. 

I don’t… I have to ask my Aunt and Uncle if you can stay with me, but I think it’ll be alright. I can’t bring you back now, and you can’t be seen so you gotta stay low. Can you do that?” Peter murmured as they rested in their usual alleyway, kneeling, so he was eye level with Deadpool.

Deadpool nodded his head.

“Good boy,” Peter smiled, well, grimaced, the pain keeping him from fully smiling. 

\------------------

Deadpool was beyond happy, wagging his tail and panting, practically prancing back and forth as

Peter walked into the alley. His arm was bandaged up nice and secure, the majority covered by his jacket. But even more importantly, he could smell food.

“Thanks for uh… stopping those guys yesterday,” Peter thanked as he sat down.

 _You’re welcome weak human,_ his voice sounding like whimpers.

“Yeah yeah I know you’re hungry hang on,” Peter said, mistaking Deadpool’s welcome with just desperate whimpers.

“You really hurt Flash yesterday though, he had to get stitches. That’s probably why the police were here today because he told on you.”

Peter stayed silent for a while. “I didn’t ask my Aunt and Uncle cause I know they probably won’t let you stay, they think you’re dangerous and I shouldn’t be around you. They weren’t too happy about this.” Peter held his bandaged arm up.

Deadpool whimpered an apology.

“I forgive you, though, you didn’t mean to.” Peter dropped his arm and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “I’m just going to bring you home anyways though, let them see you for themselves.”  

On the way back to Peter’s home, people gave them strange looks. A small teenager with a rabid-looking dog a little over half the boy’s height would draw viewers.

It didn’t matter though. Deadpool was aware that any of these people could be evil, but he was too happy to care. He was going to a home, and Peter would keep him and feed him and keep him safe.

Soon enough, they were on their way till they entered a neighborhood and landed on the front steps of an old chipped porch.

\--------------

To say that meeting the Aunt and Uncle was easy would be lying. When Deadpool saw the Uncle, Uncle Ben he thought he heard addressed, he hunkered down and started growling. This Uncle Ben looked a lot like a man who used to torture him. He didn’t trust him off the bat.

The Aunt didn’t like his reaction either, pulling Peter away and hustling him into the house with the Uncle.

With his dog hearing, he could hear the arguing going on. They didn’t trust him. They thought he was dangerous. And why shouldn’t they believe that? He was dangerous, he could kill Peter with one strong bite to the throat or kill all three of them right here right now. But he wouldn’t, but he was offended they’d think that he’d hurt the boy on purpose.

“Is that the dog that bit you?” Deadpool heard the Uncle ask.

 _Point_ , but not on purpose.

“He’s the really intuitive dog that saved my life,” Peter bit back.

The argument continued until the Uncle and Peter walked out.

“You can stay, but in the back yard,” Peter announced. 

Deadpool wagged his tail, happy. Thanking him over and over, of course, he could only whine, but he thought Peter got the point.

“He’s thanking you,” Peter looked at his Uncle, grinning.

His Uncle didn’t look convinced.

Peter sat outside in the short grass with Deadpool in the backyard, watching him eat off a plate full of leftovers from dinner.

“We’re not gonna leash you. My Uncle says we don’t have too. I mean, we don’t have a leash or a collar. At least, the one we have is too small anyways. The one we have is made for a small dog. She’s gone. Anyways, honestly, I think he just wants to see if you’ll try to escape or leave.” Peter started picking at the grass. “You can leave if you want to, I understand if you don’t want to stay.”

Deadpool stopped eating to look up, licking his chops while tilting his head in confusion. Did the boy not want him anymore?

“I mean… you’re a wild dog you probably don’t want to be stuck in a house.” Peter didn’t look at the dog. “God, I’m talking to a dog. You don’t understand me. But I think you do I mean, you’re pretty highly intuitive. If you know what that means. You probably don’t, but you understand a lot, dontcha?”

Peter was right. He didn’t know what intuitive meant, but he did understand a lot. Deadpool would prove the boy wrong. He’d stay and show him that he wants to be here. A house pet was better than just roaming around until he got mauled or shot or picked up by animal control.

Deadpool sat outside in the corner of the fence, watching the house and the lights in the downstairs windows turn off, and the lights upstairs turn on.

From where he sat, he could see Peter’s bedroom’s partially open window. A warm yellow glow cut up between horizontal lines of his blinds shown through, allowing him to see the silhouettes of the humans. With his dog hearing, he could hear a faint song playing as Peter got dressed for bed. He watched intently at the window, first watching the Aunt walk in and kiss Peter on the forehead, glancing at Deadpool before leaving.

When he saw her look at him, he panted and wagged his tail. His version of waving.

When the Uncle walked in and looked, Deadpool made the same motion.

“See? He’s intuitive Uncle Ben,” he heard Peter say. “He’d be great as a pet. A watchdog! You’ve been wanting one of those.”

“Hm… we’ll see. It depends if he stays. Goodnight, Pete.” The Uncle ruffled Peter’s hair before leaving.

\-------------

Deadpool watched Peter’s silhouette turn to him before walking away and turn off the light.

He didn’t know if he should stay. He wanted to stay, but he remembered his first owners. He couldn’t remember them very well, but he remembered them enough. He remembered being a puppy, a Christmas tree. He remembered children and how happy he was. He forgot what love felt like, but he felt like they really cared for him. He recalled growing up and people starting to be scared of him. He remembered accidentally playing too rough with a neighborhood dog. He remembered being taken away, but he didn’t know that. He thought he was going to a dog park. He remembered the field they dropped him off at. It was an odd dog park with no fences and no other dogs, and they didn’t bring any toys.

 _Silly humans_ , he thought at the time. They forgot the toys. So when the father got in his truck and drove away, Deadpool just felt that he was going to get the toys, so he waited. And waited, and waited, till he was starving and heartbroken. And then he waited some more, wondering if his humans were okay.

He didn’t want this to happen to him again. He loved Peter, and he didn’t want to be rejected. Something told him to stay though. He’d stay and prove to them that he could be the best guard dog that ever existed, and he’d be worth enough not to drop off and abandon. 

He had a home now, he wouldn’t fuck that up.

 

 

\-------------

**Two weeks later**

He was officially a part of the Parker family. Once they realized he didn’t leave and wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, Peter was allowed to buy him dog food and grooming supplies.

He hated being bathed. Being bathed usually meant he was going to get experimented on, but Peter wasn’t going to experiment on him. Whatever Peter was using on his fur soothed his skin, and Wade couldn’t help his wagging tail.

He made sure to be docile and let Peter brush out his matted fur when he was done bathing him, well, at least whatever was left of his fur. 

That’s how he got his new name actually. Peter stumbled upon his scabbed, but very prominent brand.

“W.D.E.,” Peter muttered under his breath.  “

Initials of the shithead who owned him before being sold out. After a bunch of attempts at pronouncing letters that shouldn’t go together, Peter settled on the name Wade. It wasn’t a good name, he hated it, but Peter seemed to be alright, so he started answering to Wade. Whatever made the boy happy.

He actually did a lot of things to make the boy happy. And he found he didn’t mind. He was as loyal to Peter as Peter was loyal to him.

He’d catch the ball Peter would throw sometimes and bring it back. Sometimes the kid looked bored, but most of the time he was excited with a big smile. It was odd, the kid was so happy at throwing the ball. Didn’t know why he kept telling him to get it. At least throw it against a wall or something. He’d throw him a rope, but then try to get it back. He didn’t like that game. He’d tug on it but lose interest really quickly, but he didn’t have time for Peter to be indecisive. Did he want the damn rope or not. His past owners did this too.

_Stupid humans._

But Wade was happy to go catch it, and the running was always nice.

Peter took him everywhere he could. They’d go on night walks and explore some areas so Peter could photograph the landscape. Wade quickly became the center focus of almost all of them.

They would walk in the dark, and he’d listen to Peter talk and laugh, or mourn over his parents or complain about school or fawn over his girl crush. He’d make sure Peter stayed away from danger, sensing it before Peter could, and grabbing his hand gently in his jaws, pulling him in a direction far away from the danger he’d sense. He was always careful with his teeth. Peter had scars from that bite.

\---

Wade grew with Peter. Watched Peter age from 13 to 14 to 15, going through his moody, hormonal outbursts and arguments with his Aunt and Uncle. He saw when Peter brought home his friends and his first girlfriend. Assisted Peter out the door on his way to his first prom.

All the while, his hair grew back into a beautiful, thick coat. His skin didn’t itch anymore. Whatever Aunt May used in his baths worked wonders.

He grew to adore the Aunt and Uncle almost as much as he loved Peter. They fell in love with him pretty quickly. He thought they would be hard ass, boring people, but they weren’t. Their tough, wary exterior melted as they accepted him as part of their family.

It was good, but like all good things, it had to come to an end.

Wade lived with the Parker’s for three, almost four years when Uncle Ben died. Wade was with Ben when he sensed danger, but he couldn’t hurt the man in time before Ben got shot.

“Watch out for my family,” Ben whispered as Wade whimpered and tried to get help.

So Wade did. He watched over Peter and Aunt May more closely than ever. He laid in bed with Peter, letting the boy sob into his coat, and hug him tightly around the neck.

He let Aunt May curl up close to him on the couch when Peter wasn’t there, letting her share her own sorrows.

I’m sorry, Wade whimpered as he cried with them in ways dogs did. Remembering the proud way, Peter told his Uncle that he’d be a good guard dog when the boy first brought him home. 

They healed eventually.

Aunt May was always strong, so she seemed like she healed quickly. She maintained her composure, took an extra job to help pay for the family. She held her head up high and stayed strong for Peter. Wade wouldn’t have thought she was hurting if he couldn’t sense her pain, and when Peter was gone, lay beside her as she cried.

Peter was a different story. Wade had to listen to Peter blame himself as he cried himself to sleep almost every night for months. He listened to spilled heartfelt thoughts in the middle of the night. Wade stayed up all night laying beside Peter in Peter’s bed, resting his head on Peter’s chest to keep the boy’s breathing steady. He’d have all day while the boy was at school to sleep.

Wade had to watch as the boy broke down multiple times into a mess on the floor, screaming and crying and hyperventilating. He had to keep Peter from hurting himself while he shook and tried to claw at himself. He sat by Peter as he rocked back and forth, wheezing for air his lungs couldn't find.

Eventually, though, Peter got better. Slowly, but surely.

They healed eventually, and things got back to normal, but everyone could sense the presence missing from the room. Wade especially. He could still smell Uncle Ben’s scent on certain things like the couch, the closet.

 

\--------------

A year passed since Uncle Ben died when the next tragedy struck.

Wade was use to a schedule. He’d wait for Peter to wake up. Peter and Aunt May would go off to do their human responsibilities, they’d come home eventually before seven, and then Aunt May would be off for her night job.

But one day, Peter didn’t come home.

It wasn’t out of the norm at first. Sometimes Peter went to a friends house. But then the streets turn muted in color, the street lights turn on emitting a glow, their orange light bright against the soon dark night.

Aunt May didn’t have a work shift that night, so they waited in the living room. Wade listened to May go from being angry and swearing that Peter’s going to be in serious trouble, to being extremely worried and anxious, hiding her fear by anger.

Wade watched her dial the phone again, probably for about the fifth time and leaving a voicemail.

Something was wrong. Wade could feel it in his soul that his human was in trouble, he could feel anxiety and fear as if Peter was the one feeling those too.

Aunt May and he stayed up all night, Wade letting May idly pet him while muttering to herself to keep herself calm, telling herself that Peter was okay and was just late.

But soon the time turned to twelve, and that turned to one, and when three am hit, Aunt May dozed off on the couch. Not after trying to call Peter again though.

\-----

Peter didn’t come home all day the next day, or the day after that. 

But men in blue and black did. Policemen.

Wade growled at them, hating them, but Aunt May seemed to need them, so Wade laid off. For now.

They filed a missing child report and left, but that didn’t help.

It’s been over 72 hours now.

“Find him, please,” May grabbed Wade’s face gently with her fragile, shaking hands, tears shining in her eyes and her mouth curved down in worry.

Wade walked out of the house.

He would find his kid.

\------

Wade searched high and low, sniffing everything he could, listening to each noise the outside made, trying to catch a scent or a faint whisper of Peter.

He searched and searched for hours till it got dark, yet he still kept going.

And then he found him. Or, he heard him.

He heard Peter screaming and crying somewhere off in the distance.

Wade ran full speed as fast as his tired legs could carry him, the sounds getting louder and louder as he entered a field.

What he found made his blood boil. Two men stood, kicking and beating Peter, his Peter, who was curled up on the ground bloody and bruised. It looked worse than what the bullies at Peter’s school inflicted.

Wade growled and took a stance, the noise alerting the two men.

“Oh fuck, it’s a fucking bitch.” The first man stepped back in alarm. 

“Are you fucking scared you fucking pussy? Throw him a bone, we’ve got plenty of those,” The second one laughed, pointing a knife at Peter, who was laying worriedly still on the ground.

Both of them laughed, but only one didn’t finish when Wade pounced on one man and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of his throat before the man knew what hit him. The taste of blood fueled his aggression as he ripped the man’s throat out with his teeth and scratched at his chest with all his might, barely letting the flesh out of his mouth before he bit into the man’s shoulder, effectively having him pinned to the ground. It reminded him of his tormentor's fate right before Wade escaped. 

He felt a sharp pain in his side along with a deafening sound. He let go of the man and looked at the other assaulter, growling and smelling the smoke from the gun that the man had aimed at him.

The gun shook in the man’s hand, but it was still out. Wade let out an intimidating growl, baring his teeth before he lunged, feeling the bullet graze his shoulder, but he didn’t let that stop his momentum. He had the man knocked to the ground and choking on his own blood in no time.

Only when the man stopped convulsing is when Wade calmed down, his anger turning to immediate worry.

Looking where Peter once lay was empty. Not far was Peter, helplessly crawling away, whimpers of pain and fear-eliciting from his mouth. Panting heavily and painfully.

Peter’s backside was torn up. He could see dirt and grass stuck to the deep gashes across the boy’s back as if he was whipped and cut and… bit… there was darker, fresher blood trailing down the inside of his thighs and bruises littering his body, his whole body trembled.

Wade trotted up to him, making noise for Peter to know he was there.

He watched Peter cower and curl up, placing his arms protectively over his head.

Blood coated his arms along with cuts and burns that looked like they were made by a hot knife.

Wade whimpered and nosed at Peter’s arms, trying to comfort the boy.

 _I’m here, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,_ Wade wanted to say. But only pathetic whines and whimpers came out as he tried to push at the boy to get up. He needed help, Wade could smell fear and pain. The boy wouldn’t make it.

A small hand reached out as Peter lowered his arms, feeling Wade’s fur.

Wade whimpered and nudged Peter’s forehead as he always did when the boy was hurt, feeling the way Peter’s fingers dug into Wade’s fur, gripping him tight as if he was the lifeline to safety.

Wade held up his head, jolting back in alarm. Peter’s face was full of blood. So much blood that he could barely see Peter’s flesh tone. Some fresh blood still trailed from the corners of his mouth and gashes on his cheeks and forehead, but what got him was Peter’s eyes. The soft, brown eyes that always lit up whenever he was happy were gone.

In place of his eyes were just sockets with angry looking, torn flesh where it looked like they were gouged out with a sharp object of some sort. They smelled of burnt flesh. 

Peter’s arms were still out, trying to grasp for Wade as he continued making guttural noises, unable to talk. Only cry. Wade wondered if he even had a tongue _too_ talk. 

Wade howled and barked, hoping someone would hear him. They were near enough to a neighborhood for someone to hear.

It went on for a few minutes when he gave up and nestled next to Peter, helpless except to give Peter company. If nobody found them, Peter would surely die, but Wade would make sure he wouldn’t die alone. He could already hear the boy’s heart start to beat slower and slower, and his breath become more shallow yet heavy. Every minute Peter’s heart beat slower, Wade’s beat faster, the fear coursing through him.

He lay flush next to Peter’s side, feeling the boy curl up against him, wordlessly petting Wade’s coat with weak touches.

It felt like hours in dog years, but eventually, he saw police lights drive up on the outskirts of the field. Wade got up, ignoring the panging feeling of Peter try to keep him down, barking to get the police’s attention. He saw flashlights turn on and men approaching. He turned back to Peter, nudging Peter back to life.

_They were saved_

He heard the horror unfold as the policemen cussed in alarm at the sight. One man vomited while the other called in for help. Two mauled men and a dying boy with a scary looking dog clearly wasn’t what they were expecting.

Wade backed off when guns were drawn, but they didn’t shoot. He followed as one of the policemen picked up the boy, growling when he heard Peter whimper, angry the policeman was hurting his kid.

He wasn’t allowed in the ambulance, and he could only follow it so far. So he trailed home, worried sick about his boy and what would happen.

They would save him. They would, they would because they found Peter, and Peter had to live because he was too young and nice to die.

\------

Wade waited anxiously by Peter’s bedroom door, shut by May. He laid there often, always wondering when he would hear Peter’s familiar voice, footsteps, just something that gave an indication that Peter was alive and well.

But days passed.

He barely moved, barely ate, only sitting and watching May trail back and forth, biting her fingers and chewing the inside of her mouth nervously, trying to go about her day in a stable manner, not willing herself to cry.

“He’s still alive. I’m not going to cry like he’s dead already,” May told Wade once, her voice wobbling and cracking a bit, but she kept herself composed. 

\--------

Wade heard two pairs of footsteps one day.

He perked up immediately, running down the stairs happily. He knew Peter would make it out alive. But something was wrong. When the door opened, the scent wasn’t Peter’s. 

He watched as a man led May inside, telling her something before leaving.

As soon as the door closed, he watched May collapse on the floor, sobbing heavily.

He knew. He knew at that moment, Peter was dead.

Wade walked over, his heart shattering just by feeling May’s anguish. She looked up at him, eyes red and swollen, her face splotchy red and wet with tears.

“He’s… he’s…” May choked out, but she couldn’t finish her sentence.

Wade felt his heart shatter and his soul leave. He couldn’t be dead.

He couldn’t.

\---------

Wade only accepted Peter was completely gone when he was at the funeral, watching people dressed in black stand around looking at a closed coffin.

Wade laid there against the coffin, feeling the flowers press against his back, too sad to move or care.

Before they moved the coffin to place in the ground, Wade placed his forehead against the smooth wood, knowing Peter was in there, asleep to never wake up.

Wade expected the coffin to open and see Peter smiling, telling him it was all a joke. He would come out and hug him and take him on a walk and talk to him about his dreams and the future, but the coffin stayed closed, and the atmosphere around the room was quiet. Yet he still waited.

After the funeral, May walked up the stairs with Wade following her. They stopped in front of Peter’s open door. Wade expected to see Peter sitting in there either on his bed or his desk, but definitely alive and well, doing homework or some video game.

But May just shut the door with her head hung low, unable to look in the room. Wade stayed there though, laying in front of the door dutifully for when Peter would come home.

Wade wandered aimlessly around the house for days. He’d perk up at every noise, every corner he turned he’d expect Peter to be there, but he never was, and he never would be. Yet he waited. 

Once he whined enough to get May to open Peter’s door, he found himself laying on Peter’s bed most hours of the day, the cold emptiness beside him a reminder that he couldn't save his boy.

He was unable to eat and soon unable to move. His strength died with Peter. His soul left with Peter’s, yet he wasn’t with him. Even with May trying to comfort him and get him back to a normal routine, Wade couldn’t be consoled.

He died of a broken heart as he waited for someone he wouldn't see again. 

But it was okay. 

At the light at the end of the tunnel stood a small figure with a wide grin and soft brown eyes that shined with happiness, greeting him at the doors of death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand this is how I depicted Wade as a dog
> 
> It was really fun to write, but what did you guys think? Any comments, good or bad are appreciated!
> 
> Next chapter? Expect Peter with wings

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it, please leave kudos and/or a comment! Those are always lovely and make my day
> 
> Wanna talk? My tumblr is The-infinant-one


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